


Every Time

by nhpw



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Sam put on a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/gifts).



They meet in a seedy bar at the edge of the next town over – the kind of place where a constant smoky haze hangs in the air, nobody meets a stranger’s eye directly and the single, unisex bathroom is tiny and may or may not have been cleaned in the past week.

Sam arrives at 5:37.  He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a flannel shirt that’s haphazardly buttoned over a forest green t-shirt, and with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes to complete the look, he blends in like a wallflower.

In contrast, the man he’s there to meet stands out embarrassingly in his navy blue suit, crisp collared shirt and shoes that shine even through the haze.  Sam spots him in a second and saunters up from behind, hands in his pockets as he takes the empty barstool on his companion’s right.  A pint of dark amber liquid with just a bit of foam is there waiting for him.

“You’re late.”  Sam doesn’t respond, and the silent beat following the statement is punctuated by the echoing _crack_ as one of the bar’s four other patrons breaks the cue ball into a freshly set rack of stripes and solids.  Then the other man takes a sip of his own mixed drink and says, more to his glass than to Sam, “Drink.”

Sam touches his fingertips to the pint as he cups it, but he doesn’t obey.  “What is it?”

“I ordered it for you.  Drink,” and the last word comes down like a hammer as he sets his drink down harder than necessary on the bar and turns his head to look directly at Sam.  Their eyes meet now for the first time.

Edward Dillinger, Junior.  Tall, lean, hipster… and totally hot.  Sam can’t remember when the first time was he looked at Ed and saw something other than the son of the douchebag who’d nearly ruined his father, but… well, it didn’t matter.  When they meet like this, Sam loses all track of time.  He lives in the moments.  He lives _for_ the moments.

Now the game is on, and Sam’s fingers twitch on the glass briefly before he lifts it to his lips and takes a long swig.  He should – he _does_ – know better than to say anything, but he speaks anyway.  “It’s warm.”

“It was cold at 5:30.”

Sam says no more.  He drinks in long pulls, mostly looking at the wall behind the bar or into his glass, rarely at his companion.  Sip by sip, the brew relaxes him – that’s the intent, he knows.  It’s meant to loosen his muscles and lower his inhibitions. 

That thought makes him snort into the bowels of a nearly empty glass as it crosses his mind.  _Inhibitions_.  Like he has any.

After five minutes, he sets an empty pint glass down on the bar and waits.  He doesn’t have to wait long.  A hand snakes over into his lap, between his thighs and cups his groin.  It pauses just a moment and then begins to knead with intent.

Sam bites his bottom lip to hold in a groan he knows will have to escape eventually.  Ed is going to grope him until he cums in his pants, Sam knows that for certain.  He gives a moment’s thought to the bartender, who’s down at the other end chatting up a middle-aged woman.  Neither of them seems to be paying Ed and Sam any mind.  Sam can’t hold back anymore, and he closes his eyes, tilts his head back and lets out a low, “ _Ohhh_ ,” as Ed begins to stroke the length of his now painfully hard dick.

“That’s it.  That’s it.”  Ed’s cooing in his ear, but it’s more of a victor’s croon than a lover’s, and as a long tongue darts out to lick the shell of Sam’s ear, there’s nothing more that Sam can do.  He’s going to have an orgasm right here, right now, in this bar, sitting on a stool, and he’s going to have it in his pants, and it’s going to be wet and cold and terribly embarrassing… but it’s going to be.  Ed hisses – honest to God _hisses_ like a snake against Sam’s wet and tender ear – and he nips the lobe and gets off his own stool, circling behind Sam so that he can deliver the death blow.  “You’re such a little slut, Sam Flynn.  And the best part is, you don’t care who knows it.  You’re cumming now, aren’t you?  You’re cumming, and you’re going to keep cumming, and I’m going to keep touching your cock while you do because that’s what sluts like.”  He bites down hard on Sam’s earlobe and squeezes his balls painfully and that’s it, that’s it, Sam can’t wait anymore.  He cums – a contained explosion, the energy from which is expelled through Sam’s mouth as he shouts in pain and pleasure and his whole body warms with a blush in the aftermath.

“Get on your knees and suck my cock,” his companion says throatily in the same instant he mercifully removes his hand from the soggy denim covering Sam’s groin.  Somehow his voice is above a whisper, but Sam’s fairly certain no one else has heard him say it.  Still, the blush burns hotter in his cheeks and he turns his head to look at the other man.  Fiery blue pools are boring back into him, alight with authority.  When Sam speaks, it’s an incredulous whisper. 

“Here?  Now?  Like this?  Ed…”

“Did I stutter?”

The way Ed delivers this statement makes Sam’s own cock begin to twitch again.  He has no idea why, but he loves the way Ed responds to even the slightest challenge of power.  It’s why he does it in the first place – it raises the stakes.  Every time.

“But people will see.”

“And?”

Sam can hear the edge, as though Ed is laughing at Sam’s timidity in his mind.  Ed knows it’s a front.  He knows Sam will do it _because_ people will see, and he _wants_ them to see, because he gets off on exactly this kind of thing.  But Sam plays one more hand, meeting Ed’s gaze directly and holding it longer than he knows he should.

Then he slides down like molasses to the floor, running the flat palm of his left hand firmly over Ed’s groin as he goes.  When he’s to the floor, he doesn’t remove the hand from Ed’s crotch – instead, he uses it to open the fly – or tries to.  Ed bats the hand away in the same moment that he removes Sam’s cap from his head.

“Your mouth,” he says, running rough fingers through Sam’s hair as he tosses the cap aside, “is the only thing I’m interested in.”  And Ed opens the fly himself and pulls out his half-hard dick.  His hand fixes onto the back of Sam’s neck and holds his head steady, and Sam opens his mouth eagerly, but Ed teases, running the tip of the organ over Sam’s lips, pulling back, making him look like a greedy slut just looking to fill a hole.  He teases until Sam starts to pant and drool, mouth still open – then he chuckles darkly and thrusts his hips forward, making Sam groan around his mouthful in surprise.  “Suck it.”  There’s no mercy in Ed’s tone or his actions as he refuses to let go of Sam’s head.  “Suck me dry you dirty whore.”

Sam mumbles around the cock filling his mouth, but the truth is he’s loving every minute of it, and his own renewed erection is straining against the rough, damp fabric of his jeans.

He can’t help it.  His eyes shift to the left, away from Ed and toward the bar’s other patrons.  He hasn’t heard the crack of the pool balls since he went to the floor.  Certainly all eyes are on them now.

“Eyes.  On.  Me.”  Ed fucks into Sam’s mouth mercilessly with each word.   “They see something they like, they can have it when I’m finished.” 

The idea makes Sam shiver and lose focus briefly, and Ed stuffs his mouth full and pinches his nose shut.

“You’re thinking about that now, aren’t you?  Huh?  Thinking about being gangfucked by strangers?  And you’d get off on that shit, I know you would.”  He begins to thrust into Sam’s mouth wildly, gunning for release.  Sam keeps his eyes up, watches as Ed throws his head back and savors the feel of Sam’s mouth and throat.  He’s going to cum soon, Sam knows it, knows all the signs – like the way Ed’s body is tensing now – and he steals himself for the moment that first spurt of cum explodes into his mouth.  He doesn’t like when it surprises him – makes him gag a bit and feel a fool, especially when they’re in public.  So he prepares mentally, knows it’s coming even though Ed says nothing to announce the arrival of his orgasm, and Sam opens his throat just in time and flawlessly swallows the first two spurts.

Ed pulls back and lets the rest hit Sam in the face, and Sam closes his eyes just in time.

It’s over when Ed wipes the softening head of his dick on Sam’s chin and pats his head, but he doesn’t offer Sam anything to wipe his face or make it easier to stand.  In fact he stands aside and makes Sam’s cum-covered face visible to the three gentlemen playing pool.  Sam blinks his eyes open – the combining smells of ejaculate and smoke are making his eyes sting just a bit – to see them looking at himself and Ed.  One – a short, stocky man probably in his early 40s, balding on top and appearing not to have shaved in a couple of days – looks intrigued.  The other two just look dumbfounded.

Sam has to bite back a smile, and even so, the right corner of his mouth twitches upward.  To cover himself, he darts out his tongue and licks his lips, pulling in a few drops of Ed’s cum.

Someone behind them clears their throat and it draws Sam’s attention enough that he turns his head at the same time that Ed does.  It’s the bartender, and Sam knows that look.  Their show is about to be shut down.

This one’s polite and crooks his finger at Ed, who leans casually against the bar as he puts himself back together. 

“I ain’t no homophobe, so I ain’t judgin’, but this ain’t no porno set ‘neither, understand?”  Sam watches as Ed nods.  “You clean him up and take him home, or go finish whatever business you still got with him out in your car or the alley or somethin’.  Keep your private life private.”

“Of course.”  Ed gives a polite and apologetic smile, and it carries just the right amount of sheepishness that Sam’s knees go a bit weak and his blush returns.  Then Ed returns to Sam’s side and offers a hand, which Sam braces his palm against as he gets to his feet, grabbing his cap as he goes.  The assistance probably isn’t necessary, but it’s nice that Ed offers it.

Every time.

Those intense azure pools are positively shining behind dark-rimmed glasses, and the smile on Ed’s face says what his words do not.  _Love.  Love.  Love_.  Ed’s face speaks volumes.

As always.

Ed holds the rickety wooden door of the bar open for Sam and they make their exit.  It rattles shut behind them, still banging a bit on its hinges as they step out into the crisp air of a late autumn night.  Sam draws in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and exhales slowly.  He’s trying not to think about the sticky mess in his pants or the fact that he feels like he’s losing all his warmth through that single wet spot.  Funny, but the drying mess on his face doesn’t bother him.

Then Ed’s pinning him up against the building, kissing him long and deep and hard on the mouth, and Sam melts into the kiss and forgets all about everything.  Ed’s nose brushes his, and his forehead nuzzles Sam’s neck, and they’re both smiling wide enough that after awhile, their teeth click together when they come back to the kiss after pausing to draw breath.

Ed laughs first.  Sam follows.  “So beautiful,” Ed whispers, and the next time he kisses Sam it’s soft, all lips and tongue and no teeth at all and Sam’s back to just melting, melting into this man.  “Mmmm… Sam…”

Sam whimpers and turns his head to the side as Ed grinds a thigh between his legs, searching for the erection he knows is there.  “Mmmcold, Ed.”  It sounds a little whiney, but the shiver that accompanies it is genuine.

“Sure, sure.”  Ed does the nose-nuzzle thing again before stepping back.  “Meet you at home?”

“I’ll be waiting for you under the covers.”

“Awfully eager for someone who was late to this party.”

Sam laughs then as they part and head slowly, for their respective vehicles.  “Nothing I could do.  Traffic was terrible!”

There’s no response, and Sam’s still grinning as he mounts his Ducati and secures his helmet.  Of course he’ll beat Ed home.  He’ll beat him by a mile, long enough to get home and undressed and cuddled up under the covers, waiting for the reward he knows he’s earned. 

Home.  Warm.  Ed. 

It’s enough to spur him 10 minutes over the speed limit all the way home.  He’s stopped at three red lights, and at each one, his mind churns away, formulating the how and where of _next time_.

Because there is always, always a next time.  Oh yes.  Sam lives for the thrill, for the sex, for the eyes on his performance… and he knows Ed does too, even if he’ll never admit it.

Mostly, though, he just lives for being with Ed.


End file.
